


poetry and the inexplicable way you dance

by vityenka



Series: stardew valley!!! on ice [1]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Stardew Valley, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Victor Nikiforov, Poetry, So much fluff yall, Stardew Valley - Freeform, Teacher Katsuki Yuuri, Writer Victor Nikiforov, i wrote this in two days bc i was so excited about it, yes i wrote poetry for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25041973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vityenka/pseuds/vityenka
Summary: Viktor's grandfather passes away and leaves him his farm in Hasetsu. What follows is the journey of regaining life and love. It's Yuri!!! on Ice, but it's actually Stardew Valley.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: stardew valley!!! on ice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816282
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88





	poetry and the inexplicable way you dance

**Author's Note:**

> WOW THREE FICS. i know this isn't a june fic, but i can't believe i'm posting this much so close together. 
> 
> okay, stardew valley is my favorite video game. i love the idea of viktor leaving behind a depressing life and moving to pelican town and falling in love with sweet, kind teacher yuuri. i also kind of gave viktor a bit of elliot's personality, by making him a writer/poet. fun fact, i'm a poet. yes i wrote my own poetry for this. unsurprisingly, waxing poetic about katsuki yuuri is a strong suit of mine. same viktor, same. 
> 
> i hope you like this! i'm really proud of it, and i hope you'll leave some comments and love!

_ Dear Vitya, _

_ When this letter finds you, I hope you will be in good health. I hope you will be living the life you have always wanted, and that you are successful while doing so. When this letter finds you, I will have passed. It is not sudden, that much you know. We have been expecting this for a long while now, and I hope you will come to accept this and live knowing that I love you.  _

_ I want to talk about happiness. For a long time, I was unhappy. I worked long hours in a factory I hated, in a city I hated, in a place I felt I couldn’t fit myself into. Vitya, I want to talk about  _ your  _ happiness. I want you to ask yourself if you are happy with your life. I won’t make assumptions, but I know who I was at your age; I was a young man, bitter and jaded by twenty-five, with nothing left to live for beside money and survival.  _

_ But Vitya, that is not all life is. I left the city and moved to Hasetsu in Pelican Town. It’s set by the seaside, you remember. Seagulls flock above our heads and the waves crash like thunder on the stormiest days. You knew this place as a young boy, running through the crop-fields and between trees, dirt kicking up behind you in a cloud.  _

_ What I am trying to tell you is that if you find yourself jaded and unhappy, if one day you wake up and you find that getting out of bed and facing the day seems like the hardest thing in the world, I want you to look back at this letter. I want you to read it, understand how I regained my life and love, and do the same. I want you to read the letter enclosed with this one, and give yourself a shot at life.  _

_ While I am gone, I will be with you always. I hope you can take what I have said here, and regardless of your decision, find yourself something to make your life worth living.  _

_ Love Always, _

_ Dedka.  _

———————

Viktor’s eyes wander the office. The woman across from him, Maureen, is talking loudly on the phone and popping her gum over and over. The screen in front of him blinks, blank page stretching for miles waiting for him to finally begin writing. As he’s about to start his first sentence, he’s interrupted by his manager slamming a stack of papers on his desk. 

“Mr. Nikiforov,” Anatoly Andreovich says, thin eyebrows arched. “I expect all of these forms signed and dated by the end of the lunch hour.” 

“There’s hundreds here!” Viktor protests, flipping through the sheets, his hand already beginning to cramp from imagining the amount of signatures needed. 

Anatoly shrugs, “That’s the job. Don’t like it, quit.” He strides away, ill-fitting suit rustling with every step of his shiny dress shoes. Viktor glances at the clock and despairs to see it’s only eleven. He has an hour to do all of these papers, and then four more until he can leave. His empty, cold apartment is the only thing waiting for him. Suddenly, his pen seems to weigh ten pounds, and he can’t bring himself to begin. 

The minutes pass, Viktor staring at the blank document, cursor blinking at him. The mountain of paper on his desk, waiting for his signature that he realizes will never come. Viktor sets the pen down and opens the top drawer of his desk. Underneath discarded envelopes and brochures for company events, sits his grandfather’s letter. It’s been a year since Mikhail Nikiforov passed, but Viktor still feels the loss as fiercely as he did the day the news came. He unfolds the letter and fingers the worn corner between his thumb and pointer. 

He stares at the words, written in his grandfather’s looping handwriting. 

_ I want you to read it, understand how I regained my life and love, and do the same. I want you to read the letter enclosed with this one, and give yourself a shot at life.  _

Everything seems clear. Viktor lifts his head and knows what he will write in the blank document, knows what he will do with his signatures and these papers. He types quickly, glancing at the clock as he does. It reads 11:45, fifteen minutes until the stack of pages are meant to be done. He slams the last triumphant key down on his keyboard and stands, stuffing his few belongings in his messenger bag as he does. Last, he tucks the letter in his jacket pocket. 

_ Give yourself a shot at life. Okay _ , Viktor thinks.  _ I can do that.  _

The document reads: EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, I AM GETTING THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. 

———————

Hasetsu, Pelican Town, is three hours outside of city limits. It’s nestled between a sprawling mountain scape, bordering the sea. Out here, the air is cleaner. Viktor breathes deeply, clenching his fists on his thighs as forests and never-ending fields pass by. Finally, the tree-line breaks and Viktor can see the houses dotting the landscape. This is the only train going by, and Viktor steps off at the lone station. No one else gets off, and a few people stare at him as he goes. Waiting on the platform is a young woman with bright red hair and a large grin, breaking across her face when she sees him. 

“Viktor Nikiforov?” She calls, raising a hand in greeting. 

Viktor hefts his bag over his shoulder. “That’s me,” he replies. The train station is deserted, save for a lone ticketer who looks bored out of her mind. “Is it normally this empty?”

“Oh, always!” The woman chirps. “Anyway, I’m Mila Babicheva. Are you Russian? You sound Russian! I’m Russian,” The woman, Mila, babbles. “Let’s go, it’s not a far walk to Mr. Nikiforov’s farm, but you must be tired.” 

Mila leads them along a dirt path, outcroppings of trees and bushes lining the way. There are a few signposts, but not many. It seems that one has to know the area to properly get around. “Is this your first time in Hasetsu?” Mila asks, when the silence stretches on for too long. 

“No,” Viktor replies. “I came here as a child. Though, I remember it being...bigger.” 

“Well, everything is bigger when you’re small!” They push through a few shrubs, and come out in a field. In the distance is an old farmhouse, beaten down. Stretching between them and it, is a trainwreck of weeds, dead trees, and stones. Viktor is, to say the least, horrified. 

“Here we are!” Mila attempts some jazz-hands, but it does nothing to put Viktor at ease. 

“This...this is my grandfather’s farm?” Viktor croaks. His palms are sweating something fierce. 

Mila shuffles her feet. “Um...yes. Well, let’s go meet Yakov.” She starts off for the farmhouse, picking her way through the debris. “Yakov knew your grandfather,” she informs him. Viktor nods vaguely, staring around in shock. 

They finally approach the farmhouse, the old wooden door barely hanging on its hinges. There’s a stack of firewood tucked underneath an overhang. Viktor, noticing the oncoming chill of autumn, is grateful. Hopefully there will be a functional fireplace. Beside the farmhouse stands an older man, thinning gray hair and square face. 

“Yakov Feltsman,” the man grumbles. He thrusts a calloused hand out, which Viktor shakes. He has manners, though he isn’t sure Feltsman cares much about that. “Welcome to Hasetsu.” 

“Thanks,” Viktor murmurs. “So. My grandfather’s farm has fallen into quite the disrepair.” 

Yakov and Mila stare at him for a moment, before Yakov barks a laugh. “Well, yes. Did you expect it to be in top condition for your arrival? In case you haven’t noticed, this town hasn’t the money for that.” 

Viktor, chastened, flushes. “My apologies. I only...he died a year ago. I didn’t think it could get this bad.”

“It’s kind of incredible!” Mila says, eyes wide. “I mean...you’ve got this!” She pumps a fist, though doesn’t seem like she quite believes her own words. Viktor doesn’t blame her. He doesn’t believe it, either. 

Changing the subject, Yakov says, “Mila is the town carpenter. I’m the mayor. You’ll meet everyone soon. They’re all nosy, especially Chulanont.” He claps Viktor on the shoulder. Viktor stumbles forward. “Get some rest, you’ve got a busy day ahead tomorrow.” 

With that, Yakov leaves. Mila follows him, waving goodbye to Viktor. They leave him there, standing in the dirt with only a dilapidated farmhouse and a mountain of weeding as company. 

———————

Yakov was right when he said Viktor had a busy day ahead. 

Unable to sleep, he had spent a good part of the night pulling up weeds and bringing in firewood. The chimney puffed ominously, and he’d cleaned it the best he could before stacking wood and lighting it. The chill set in quickly, the house not properly insulated. The fire helped, and he rolled out bedding in front of it and slept with the light of the fire flickering across his face. Through the window, the sky shone with stars he had never seen before. 

The morning comes with a rooster cawing and a pounding at his door. He swings it open, still dressed in rumpled pajamas with bedhead. 

“Hi!” cries the man on the other side. He’s shorter than Viktor, with short black hair and gray eyes. “Phichit Chulanont,” the man says, shaking Viktor’s hand enthusiastically.  _ It’s so early,  _ Viktor’s brain grumbles. 

“Hello,” Viktor rasps. His muscles ache from the travel and the work he did last night. “Viktor Nikiforov.” 

“I know,” Phichit laughs. “It’s nice to meet you, Viktor! I hope you like Hasetsu. I wanted to get the jump on your appearance before anyone else. Except Mila got there first, but that’s fine. Anyway! I hope you’ll come to breakfast this morning. Christophe, he runs the pub, is making a massive spread to celebrate your arrival! It’d be a shame if you couldn’t make it.”

Viktor blinks rapidly, trying to register everything Phichit just said. “Um. Breakfast? Okay,” he replies finally. “What time?” 

“Right now, of course!” 

“I need to get dressed.” 

“Well, obviously. No offense, but this outfit isn’t a great first impression.” Phichit means well, Viktor thinks, but his pajamas were  _ Phichit’s  _ first impression of him. A draft blows in from the door, and Viktor gestures for Phichit to wait inside. He retreats to the bedroom and dresses in a button-down and slacks. The mirror on the wall is grimy, but Viktor fixes his hair the best he can. 

“Okay,” he says when he comes out of the bedroom, “I’m ready.” 

Phichit leads the way into town, past a small park, a convenience store, and a doctor’s office. In the center of town sits the little pub. The building is made of wood, sturdy and ancient. There’s a sign hanging above the door reading  _ Christophe’s Place  _ and an open sign sitting in the window. Phichit holds the door for Viktor, and he brushes past the man into the airy room. It’s unlike the pubs in the city; there isn’t a haze of smoke, the overpowering smell of alcohol. Instead, it’s almost like a diner. There are booths lining the wall, a few tables, a bar area and a door leading to a kitchen. There’s stairs leading up to what Viktor assumes is an apartment area, judging by the nameplate on it reading  _ Christophe Giacometti.  _

“ _ Allo!”  _ Calls an accented voice from across the room. A tall, lean man with bright blonde hair is waving at them. “Welcome, Viktor! I’m Christophe.” The man strides forward and shakes Viktor’s hand vigorously. 

Viktor smiles weakly. “Nice to meet you, Christophe.” 

Christophe turns to Phichit. “Is he alright?” 

Phichit shrugs. “I think he’s still in shock from the farm. Mila owes me money.” 

“Why does she owe you money?” Viktor questions, frowning. They’re talking about him like he isn’t there. 

“Mila thought you would turn tail as soon as you arrived,” Phichit grins at him. “I said you’d make it through the night.” 

“You placed bets and didn’t tell me?” Christophe whines, “I would have said he’d make it through the week.” He claps Viktor on the shoulder. “Hasetsu’s good for people. At least if you’d left you’d have gotten a vacation out of it.” 

Viktor stares at them. “I’m staying.” They stare back. 

“Why?” Phichit asks. “You’re from the big city!” He spreads his arms at this, “Hasetsu’s tiny! It’s nothing like it is there, you know. We’re a community, and people usually only want to be here for a day or two before they realize it’s...it’s not luxurious. It’s not  _ easy  _ here.” 

“I know,” Viktor insists. “I  _ want  _ to be here. I got tired of the city. I felt stuck, and my grandfather loved this place. He gave me his farm for a reason and I’m going to do what I can to...to be happy.” 

Before Phichit and Christophe can reply, the door swings open and Mila dashes in. “Viktor! Aw, I owe Phichit money. Not that we don’t want you here! It’s just…” 

“I know,” Viktor says. His fists clench. “I’m  _ not leaving,  _ okay?” 

“Good!” Mila chirps. “We don’t want you to! It’s been ages since someone new moved here, and we’re happy to have you!” Viktor notices someone standing behind her, a blonde teenager with a perpetual scowl. “Even Yuri here! Even if he won’t admit it!” Mila grabs the boy, Yuri, and shoves him in front of her. “Say hello, Yuri!” 

Yuri scowls at Viktor. “Hi.” 

“Hi, Yuri,” Viktor replies. 

Mila suddenly turns to Phichit. “Phichit, is Yuuri coming?” 

_ Isn’t Yuri already here?  _ Viktor thinks. 

Phichit lights up. “I think so! He’s finishing up lessons for the day with the triplets, so he should be here within the hour.” 

“Good!” Mila claps happily. “Christophe,” she says, suddenly serious. “Where is the food?” 

More people filter in after that. Viktor meets Georgi and Anya, Yuuko, Takeshi and their children; he meets Seung-Gil Lee, the local museum curator; Lilia Baranovskaya, Yakov’s ex-wife and former prima ballerina. Then there’s Mickey and Sara, brother and sister, who run the clinic; Emil, an athlete living in town with his grandparents. 

Then, the Katsuki family files in. Hiroko, Toshiya, and Mari all run the grocery and convenience store that Viktor and Phichit passed on their way into town. They also take care of the spa that opens during the summer. Hiroko squeezes Viktor’s cheeks and promises to cook him some fine Hasetsu cuisine. Toshiya drags him into a discussion with Yakov about football, and Mari gives him a wave. He’s met everyone but the elusive Yuuri, who is apparently Hiroko and Toshiya’s son. 

“Yuuri’s running late. He’s grading the triplets essays,” Mari says to Phichit. 

Phichit narrows his eyes. “Are we sure he’s coming?” 

“Of course. He wouldn’t miss out on Christophe’s food.” At this, the door to the pub opens and Viktor’s heart skips a beat. In walks possibly the most gorgeous man Viktor has ever seen. He moves gracefully, fluffy black hair falling messily around his face. He’s wearing blue-rimmed glasses, and a sweater and jeans, cuffed and showing his ankles. Viktor is enamored. 

“Who’s that?” Viktor rasps, mouth dry. Phichit looks over and smirks. 

“Yuuri! Over here,” he waves to the man Viktor is ogling, grinning from ear-to-ear. 

Mari glances at Viktor and rolls her eyes. “Just don’t fuck with his heart, alright?” She grunts.    
  


“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Viktor says dreamily.    
  


“Of course not.” 

Yuuri walks over, flushing a pretty pink. “Hello,” he says softly, waving to Viktor. “I’m Yuuri.” 

Viktor stares at him for a moment, ears burning. He coughs and thrusts his hand out. “I-I’m Viktor. The pleasure is mine.” Yuuri blushes further and shakes his hand. 

“Mine as well, Viktor.” Viktor smiles at him, and when Yuuri smiles back, it’s blinding. 

———————

The next few days pass by in a blur. Viktor chops wood and digs up weeds, sweating more than he ever has his whole life. When he isn’t working, he’s in town asking after Yuuri, who seems intent on avoiding him. Seung-Gil finally gets tired of Viktor hanging around the museum and throws him out, telling him to go bother Phichit down at the docks. 

“Why is Yuuri avoiding me?” He whines for the tenth time in twenty minutes. Phichit glares at him over his schoolwork. Phichit is earning a photography degree remotely, working down at the docks with his father when he isn’t running all over town taking pictures of people and Hasetsu. His social media accounts are filled with pictures of local beauty. 

“I understand how you feel,” Georgi laments from his perch on the dock, long legs dangling into the water. A crab grabbed his toe earlier. “Anya won’t speak to me. She has forgotten, I think, the extent of my love for her. I would do anything to get her back!” He cries into his hands. Phichit rolls his eyes. 

“There, there, Georgi. You’ll find someone who will love you,” Phichit deadpans, patting the weeping man on the back. 

“I don’t want just anyone! I want Anya!” Viktor sighs and gazes out across the sea. For miles, there is open water and sky, the blue outline of mountains in the very far distance. 

“Anyway,” Phichit says, turning to Viktor. “I don’t think he knows what you want from him. He just sees some stranger asking around about him, and assumes the worst. Yuuri  _ always  _ assumes the worst.” 

“I just think he’s beautiful and interesting! I want to get to know him,” Viktor protests. 

“You need to let  _ Yuuri  _ know that.  _ We  _ all see the heart eyes you’ve been making, but Yuuri is oblivious, and when he  _ does  _ notice, he just assumes it’s a joke or something.” Phichit sighs. “Just be his friend first, okay?” 

Friends. Viktor can do that. 

———————

“Hi Yuuri!” Yuuri jumps, papers flying everywhere. “Oh, god, sorry!” Viktor scrambles to help him, shuffling them together into some semblance of a pile. 

“It’s...it’s fine. Um, Viktor.” Yuuri blushes furiously, cradling the papers to his chest. He looks soft today, in a cream-colored knit sweater.    
  


“Look,” Viktor runs a hand through his hair. He’s nervous, he’s  _ never  _ nervous. “I wanted to apologize for coming on so strong. I...I think we got off on the wrong foot?” Yuuri stares at him. “I just mean. I know I can be a lot.” 

“Viktor,” Yuuri finally says. 

“Yeah?” Viktor breathes, stepping forward. Yuuri looks up at him, confused. 

“It’s okay, really.” He runs a hand through his hair, smiles weakly. “I’m not very good at meeting people. I’m sorry.” 

“Okay,” Viktor says. “Let’s start over, yes?” 

———————

Since their conversation, Yuuri and Viktor have spent some more time together. Viktor will follow Yuuri and the triplets around for their lessons, learning more about the lovely seaside town he’s moved his whole life to. Yuuri talks about his worldly travels, his time in America for university, in France, England, Russia for dance. Viktor finds himself enamored by Yuuri’s stories, hearing him wax poetic about the green fields of Scotland. He loves learning about Russia through Yuuri’s eyes. 

The triplets are excited to hear about Viktor’s experiences, too. His time as a figure skater, before he was forced to retire due to an injury. His time in the publishing office, then at Joja Corporation, pushing publicity. Viktor had wanted to write for as long as he could remember. Longer than dancing, skating. He had written about his time on the ice, about the little nooks and crannies of the city. 

But, he finds himself now sitting in the drafty living area of his tiny farmhouse, writing for hours about the way Yuuri’s eyes shine in the early evenings. Their time spent on the mountain, watching the birds circle Hasetsu, the ocean glimmer in the distance. It’s easy, now, to write about these things because he  _ has  _ found happiness. He’s found it in the crops, tentatively poking up from the dirt, the clearing of his grandfather’s land, to make way for something new. 

The crops bloom, like flowers in Viktor’s chest, the inexplicable love he has found in the sea, the way his heart pounds when Yuuri is close to him. 

Viktor is on his knees in the garden a few weeks after his conversation with Yuuri. The beets are doing okay, the tentative pushing of green stems from the dirt signaling their growth. He’s excited; when they finally bloom properly, he can harvest and make his grandfather’s borscht. Yuri Plisetsky, who lives with his grandfather Nikolai, has been bringing around pirozhki to Viktor’s farm when Yuuri is visiting. Viktor suspects Yuri respects them both, grudgingly. Viktor thinks it would only be a fair trade to make borscht for everyone, for how welcoming they’ve all been. Plus, aside from Yuri’s pirozhki, he misses Russian food. 

As Viktor inspects the beet stems, he hears the crunch of gravel behind him and turns to see Yuuri walking up the path. Yuuri waves, smiling at him, radiant as always in walking boots, a cable knit sweater and jeans. 

“Viktor,” Yuuri greets warmly. He’s got a book in his hands, Tolstoy, which Viktor lent him the other day. 

“Yuuri!” Viktor stands and brushes the dirt off his knees. “How are you liking Tolstoy so far?” 

Yuuri lifts the book and rubs a finger over the cover. “I actually finished it already. I’ve come to thank you and return it.” 

Viktor takes the offered book and smiles down at it. “My dedka loved Tolstoy, said it reminded him of babka. She liked to read by the fire in winter.” Yuuri smiles. 

“That’s lovely,” he says. 

“Would you like some tea?” Viktor asks, instead of responding. Yuuri nods and follows him inside, where the fire crackles in the grate. Yuuri settles in the armchair that has quickly become his, toeing his boots off and tucking his feet under him. 

“The triplets are very excited to hear about Russian cuisine, you know.” Yuuri fiddles with the hem of his sweater. “You should make something for them.” 

“Why not ask Yurio?” Viktor sets a cup down on the coffee table and settles in the armchair next to Yuuri’s. “I’m sure his grandfather can cook much better than I can.” 

Yuuri shrugs, blushing. “They like you.” 

“Just them?” Viktor asks, bold. 

Yuuri looks at him through his eyelashes. “No, not just them.” 

———————

Viktor discovers the community center on a whim. He’s exploring behind the town, having been too busy the last few weeks to make it out. The center is perched on top of a hill, looking almost as run down as Georgi’s beach cottage. Its windows are boarded up, doors falling off their hinges; it reminds Viktor of the farmhouse before he set Mila on it. He’s poking around inside when he hears a creak behind him. 

Viktor spins around, in search of the noise and finds a tiny shadow skittering across the floorboards. He follows it into a room, dark save for a small light in the center of the room. “Hello?” he calls, heart pounding. A soft chirp alerts him to the light and he steps forward, approaching slowly. On the floor is a slate, strange letters adorning the golden shine of its face. 

He reaches out to touch it, and when he blinks next he’s out front of the community center, Yakov’s hand on his shoulder. “Viktor?” Yakov asks, voice unnaturally soft. “Are you alright?” 

Viktor breathes for a moment, collecting himself. “Yes, just...nevermind.” 

“This is the old community center,” Yakov says after a minute. “It fell into disrepair after the last mayor passed away. The town doesn’t have the money to keep up with it, anymore.” 

“What would we need to fix it up?” 

Yakov frowns at him. “You want to fix it?” 

Viktor stares at the dilapidated building, vines crawling up the sides and nods. “I feel like I should.” 

Yakov shrugs, “If that’s what you want, I suppose I have no objections.” He crosses his arms. “We don’t have any money to give you to help, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Viktor shakes his head. “No, no.” The lettering above the door is fading,  _ Hasetsu Community Center  _ scratched off after years of neglect. “I’ll figure it out on my own.” 

———————

A pounding on Viktor’s door wakes him. It’s barely past four in the morning, the sun not yet peeking over the mountains. “What the hell?” he grumbles, shuffling into the entrance. When he opens the door, a figure stands before him. 

“Hello,” says the strange woman. “My name is Minako.” Viktor blinks rapidly. The woman, Minako, is cloaked in dark fabrics falling around her. “Ah,” she murmurs. “I see no one has mentioned me.” She sighs, put upon. “Well, it’s to be expected. May I come in?” Viktor steps aside silently. She enters, cloak fluttering, a chill sweeping in behind her. 

Minako inspects the room, eyes running over the beams of the ceiling, cobwebs Viktor hasn’t gotten to quite yet. Viktor feels as though she sees through these things, the old interior, and notices the cracks inside of  _ him.  _ “I see you have discovered the community center,” Minako says. She looks at him, straight through him, eyes dark. 

“I have,” he replies. There is no use lying to her. 

“Good,” she folds her hands behind her back and once again surveys the room. “I see you have also promised to repair it. Difficult task, that.” She runs her fingers over the back of Yuuri’s armchair. “You need help, don’t you.” It isn’t a question. 

“What are you offering?” 

She barks a laugh. “I offer you nothing. You know my godson, though, Katsuki Yuuri.” She pauses. “You even love him.” 

“I—”

“There is no use denying it, Viktor Nikiforov.” Minako looks at him once again. “I can see it, in the way you call this  _ Yuuri’s armchair,  _ how you have molded your life here to fit him into it. Yuuri will help you rebuild the community center.” 

“Who are you?” Viktor asks, desperate for answers. 

“I am Okukawa Minako. I am the resident wizard of Hasetsu. Have you never noticed the strange tower in the forest? That is my home. You have come to Hasetsu in search of rebirth, and you have found it. You have grown to love this place, have you not? Your desire to do something, to  _ help,  _ well I could not leave that alone.” She sighs. “Lilia Baranovskaya is my friend. We danced together, you know. We followed different paths, and my love of Hasetsu and its natural magic brought me home. The air is good here, pure. I see now that you have no ill intentions, despite your past with Joja.” 

“Joja?” Viktor interrupts. “What do they have to do with Hasetsu?” 

“The Katsukis’ business is at risk if Joja makes a move on Hasetsu. They have already established a storefront here, but they seek to completely rid themselves of any competition. The Katsukis are good people, Viktor. Do not let harm befall them.” Minako moves past him in a sweep of robes. “Come see me if you need help. Do not be afraid to ask.” She rests a manicured hand on the doorknob, turning back to look at him. “Do not be afraid of the things you want.” 

With that, the door swings shut behind the wizard.

———————

Winter chill begins to set in as Viktor’s beets are ready for harvest. He cuts off the tops of them, tossing them into a bucket for composting later. Yuuri is sat at the kitchen table, a cup of steaming green tea between his hands. 

“What are you making?” He questions, watching Viktor intently. 

“Borscht,” Viktor responds. “It was my dedka’s recipe.” Yuuri gasps and joins him at the counter, gazing down at the little recipe card Viktor has propped against a random recipe book. 

“Will there be enough for everyone to try?” Viktor blinks, but shrugs. 

“I can make enough.” 

Yuuri grins, resting a gentle hand on the dip of Viktor’s spine. “Let’s have a dinner party, then.” 

It takes them a long time to prepare everything they decide to make. Yuuri rings Yuri and tells him to bring pirozhki, then he rings everyone else in town to invite them to Viktor’s farmhouse. 

“I don’t know if I’ll have enough space for everyone,” Viktor realizes as the town’s arrival time creeps closer. 

“We’ll make it work,” Yuuri promises. They do; Hiroko and Toshiya bring extra seating, arranging Viktor’s meager furniture into a comfortable seating space that can fit everyone. There’s still some standing room, allowing for people to mingle and eat. 

Yuri arrives early, carrying a loaded tray of pirozhki, his grandfather following behind. Otabek Altin, the leader of the Adventurer's Guild, follows, as well. Hiroko and Toshiya, along with their chairs, bring fresh Katsudon. Yakov brings blini, Lilia stroganoff. Mila somehow has procured vodka. She also brings pie. 

Along with the borscht, Viktor has prepared some pelmeni with Yuuri’s help. “I brought sushki,” Otabek says, setting the platter down beside the pelmeni. 

Phichit arrives with Leo, Guang Hong, and Christophe, each loaded down with food they made in Christophe’s pub. “Viktor, I hope you can handle spice!” Phichit chirps, presenting him with a dish, Kua Kling, that’s already making his eyes water. 

“I’ll make it work,” he says solemnly. Yuuri laughs at him later when he coughs, cries and downs his weight in water. 

Eventually, the entire town is crushed into the tiny farmhouse. After so long in here alone, save for Yuuri’s occasional visits, the noise is almost overwhelming. It’s welcome, though, to Viktor. He’s tired of silence, of being alone. He had forgotten, for a while, what it was like to have a family. As Mila and Sara brush by him, heads pressed together as they conspire, Viktor looks out over the people he has come to think of as his friends and family, and feels something erupt, joyous and warm, in his chest. 

“Viktor,” someone says beside him, startling him from his thoughts. Yuuri stands next to him, hand on his arm, and smiles. “Come outside for some air?” 

Viktor follows Yuuri into the night, leaving his glass of vodka to sit on the counter. They stand side by side, gazing out across the fields Viktor has put so much work into in the past few months. 

“You know,” Yuuri murmurs, “I watched you skate, as a child.” Viktor startles at this. He had been so young, only competing for a few years before he was forced to retire early. He had thought no one remembered. 

“You did?” he breathes, staring at Yuuri. Yuuri, whose head is tipped back to look at the stars, shining bright above them.    
  


“Yeah,” Yuuri says. He turns to look at Viktor, brown eyes warm, reflecting the universe. “I wanted to be like you, so I started dancing. I skated for a while, but we didn’t have the resources for me to continue. Minako, my godmother, kept me in ballet.” 

Viktor holds his breath. “Do you want to dance?” Yuuri asks, holding out one delicate hand. 

Viktor places his hand in Yuuri’s, marveling at the size difference between their palms. “I’d love to,” he whispers. 

The noise from inside is muffled, and without any music, Yuuri begins to lead Viktor in a waltz. They move together, spinning under the stars. Yuuri’s hand, locked in Viktor’s, Yuuri’s arm on his waist. They transition into a foxtrot, moving quickly, Yuuri’s head thrown back in laughter. Viktor smiles, laughter bubbling up in his chest and they transfer into a tango that sets Viktor’s blood on fire. 

Yuuri’s hips move against his, their hands growing sweaty from exertion. Yuuri’s mouth is pressed to Viktor’s throat, until he pulls away to swing out, back in. The music, between them, ends when Yuuri dips him, so far back his hair almost brushes the ground. Yuuri’s hand is pressed to his calf, holding him in place. Viktor stares up, mouth dry and panting. 

“Yuuri,” he rasps. 

Yuuri brings him back to his feet, to earth. “Come with me to Spirit’s Eve?” Yuuri’s eyes are so wide, so dark. 

“Yes,” Viktor says. He clutches at Yuuri’s hand. “Anything you want.” 

A soft smile blooms across Yuuri’s face, one Viktor is sure he’s matching. “It’s a date, then.” 

———————

In the few days between the dinner party and Spirit’s Eve, Yuuri and Viktor spend much of their time picking their way through the forest by Minako’s tower. They forage for blackberries, chop wood, and even make their way through to a secluded secret forest area. 

Viktor’s fishing pole, strapped to his back along with his other tools, is taken out and used in the little pond that’s there. Viktor catches a catfish, which Yuuri  _ ooh’s  _ and  _ aah’s  _ over. Yuuri fills his bag with chanterelles to take home to his parents for cooking, and Viktor takes a few of his own to test out in some recipes. 

They haven’t kissed yet, which Viktor is slightly disappointed about, but Yuuri’s presence makes Viktor unbelievably happy, so he doesn’t mind. They’ll kiss when the time comes, when it’s right. 

Spirit’s Eve brings a chill to the air, one that settles deep in the structure of the farmhouse. Viktor, after his morning chores, finds Yuuri working through a lesson with the triplets. Yuri appears to have joined them, reading through his own homework. Yuuri is dressed in another comfortable sweater, one Viktor recognizes as his own. It’s baggy around Yuuri’s arms, falling over his hands. It’s a deep blue, one that Viktor was told matches his own eyes, but it looks so much lovelier on Yuuri. 

Viktor settles on a bench a few feet away, watching Yuuri in his element. His hands move as he speaks, fluttering around as he paints a picture for his students. Yuuri told him he was teaching them poetry, Pablo Neruda and William Shakespeare. At Viktor’s recommendation, Pushkin’s “Echo.” When Yuuri read it, he ran his fingers lovingly over the worn page of Viktor’s copy, over the marginal notes Viktor takes whenever he reads something he loves. Yuuri does this to all of Viktor’s books, old and cracked, filling the bookshelves in his house to bulging. Viktor presses Mark Doty, Elizabeth Bishop, poet upon poet, into Yuuri’s hands. 

Now, Viktor writes. 

Yuuri’s soft voice carried away by the wind, but Viktor can hear it well enough to write of the smell of blackberries, the feeling of Yuuri’s fingers pressed into Viktor’s hips, the curve of his gentle mouth where it smiles at Viktor himself. He barely registers Yuuri wrapping up his lesson, coming to sit beside Viktor after he says goodbye to the triplets and Yuri. 

“Hi,” Yuuri says. He doesn’t look at Viktor’s notebook, respectful that he is. Viktor is too nosy, would be hovering over Yuuri’s shoulder if it was he who was writing. “What are you writing about?” 

Viktor raises his head and smiles at him, intertwining their fingers, palms pressed together. “You.” A blush blooms over Yuuri’s cheeks, sweet like the pumpkin pie they made yesterday from Viktor’s harvest. 

“Do you want to read it?” Viktor strokes his thumb across Yuuri’s knuckles, the rise of bone softened by his skin under his fingers. 

“Read it to me?” 

Viktor takes a breath, looks down at his poem, barely pieced together thoughts. Imperfect. Yuuri likes that, doesn’t he? He  _ likes  _ Viktor’s imperfection. “Okay,” Viktor says finally. 

He takes another breath and begins to read. 

“A branch cracked underfoot 

when we picked blackberries.

The sticky sweet juice caught between

His teeth and the way

He smiled, brown eyes and

His voice, caught by the wind, carried

to me, to find him, between

orange leaves and green vines.

Autumn came cold this year

and I caught a catfish between

our hands to give to him

a present, something to remember

me by. If he grows tired,

at least we will have this.”

Yuuri whimpers softly beside him, free hand covering his mouth and eyes wet. “ _ Viktor, _ ” he gasps, hand shaking. “You wrote that about me?” Viktor nods, clutching the notebook tight in his hand. 

“Is it too much? I—I know it’s a lot.” Yuuri shakes his head, a tear running down his cheek. 

“It’s—” Yuuri cuts himself off. He draws his hand away from his mouth and rests it on Viktor’s cheek, running his thumb gently across the cheekbone. He leans up, and Viktor leans down, and they kiss. Yuuri’s lips are slightly chapped, and Viktor feels shaky, but it’s the best kiss of his life. Their mouths move together, gentle and chaste in the frigid air. Viktor could cry when Yuuri lifts his other hand to cup the back of Viktor’s neck, drawing him closer.

They pull away for air and Yuuri sucks his lip into his mouth, looking up at Viktor through his lashes. “It’s perfect.” The smile Viktor breaks into is so real, it aches. 

Yuuri folds the poem up and keeps it in his wallet. It makes Viktor’s heart sing, when he sees the ripped paper poking out of the leather fold. “I did want to ask,” Yuuri says, “Do you think I’ll actually grow tired of you?” 

Viktor shrugs, looking down at his hands. The knuckles are reddened from being outside in the cold, digging in the dirt. “I’m worried you will, one day.” He smiles sheepishly. “I can be insecure, like that.” 

Yuuri grabs his hand, presses a kiss to the tip of each finger. “Your hands are dry,” he tuts. “I’ll get you some lotion.” Eventually he looks back up at Viktor. “Viktor, you make me so happy, I don’t think it’s possible for me to get tired of you.” 

Viktor nods, pulls Yuuri towards him, and kisses him deep. “When I first moved here, I just wanted to relearn what it felt like to live. But you’ve taught me so many different ways to experience life, to love. I want this forever.” 

Viktor leaves Yuuri for a few hours to go home and get ready for the festival. The bones of a maze are beginning to form, Mila putting everyone she can find to work. Viktor sneaks past and hurries home, hopping in the shower immediately. He dresses well, throwing on his nicest, warmest coat. He styles his hair, agonizing over the thinning whorl on top for far too long. Finally, he leaves, Yuuri already waiting at the entrance to the path for him. Yuuri stops him when Viktor joins him and pulls a small tube from his pocket. He squeezes out some lotion and rubs it over Viktor’s hands, massaging it gently into his palms and over his knuckles. 

“There,” Yuuri says, capping the tube and stuffing it back in his pocket. “Now your hands won’t hurt.” 

Viktor aches for him, and he pulls him into a kiss. “Thank you, Yuuri.” 

Together, they walk into town, the path lit by little candles in paper bags. The bags have little scary faces cut into them, Viktor pointing out his favorites to Yuuri, who will try and replicate each one. There’s a long table set up in the town square, loaded with candy and delicious food. The triplets are running around under bed sheets, funny faces cut out, similarly to the luminaries. Viktor assumes they helped Yuuko and Takeshi place them along the path. 

Yuuri drags Viktor to the table where he grabs them each a cup of apple cider. “Mari makes this every year. It’s  _ amazing, _ ”  he insists, leaning in. Viktor takes a sip, the hot drink warming him up. It does taste amazing, and Viktor finishes his and grabs another before Yuuri has finished his first. 

“Yuuri! Vicchan!” Hiroko waves at them from the concession stand, where she’s handing out trick-or-treat baggies filled with candy. They approach, and she grabs Viktor, pulling him down to kiss his cheeks. He grins, flushing happily. 

“Hi Hiroko,” he says, hugging her. “How are you?” 

“Never better,” she grins. “You will be a good son-in-law.” Yuuri squawks in embarrassment, hands flying up to cover his face. 

“ _ Okaasan,”  _ he whines, ears red. Viktor laughs, delighted. He grabs Yuuri’s hands and presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“I will be the  _ best  _ son-in-law, Hiroko.” 

“Vicchan, call me  _ okaasan _ , okay?” Viktor swallows around the suspicious burn in his throat and nods, smiling weakly. 

“Okay,  _ okaasan. _ ” She pinches his cheek, looking as pleased as Viktor feels. Regardless of his embarrassment, Yuuri is smiling. She finally shoos them away, insisting they go try the maze. 

Before they have a chance, they’re accosted by Phichit. “Well, well,  _ wellwellwell!”  _ Phichit crows, hands on his hips. “What do we have here?” 

“We’re on a date!” Viktor exclaims, holding up his and Yuuri’s connected hands. Yuuri is bright red, but still looks pleased.

“I  _ knew it _ ,” Phichit hisses, pointing at Yuuri. “I  _ knew  _ he had a crush on you!” 

“ _ Phichit! _ ” Yuuri hisses back, smacking his hand away. Viktor wraps his arm around Yuuri’s waist and pulls him close. 

“Have him home in one piece, Viktor,” Phichit grins, eyes sparkling. “Or not!” 

“Phichit!” Phichit disappears before Yuuri can smack him, and Viktor presses a kiss to Yuuri’s forehead. 

Yuuri melts against him, hugging Viktor’s middle. “I’m so happy,” Viktor whispers.

“Me too,” Yuuri whispers back. He lifts up onto his toes and kisses Viktor, winding an arm around Viktor’s neck. “Let’s go see that maze.” 

———————

Viktor clutches Yuuri’s hand the whole time. He jumps, screams, and hides behind Yuuri at every scary incident. 

“I’m going to  _ die, _ ” he shrieks, when a hand shoots up from a cauldron. 

Yuuri cackles, head thrown back in mirth. “Don’t worry, Viktor, I’ll protect you.” He pulls Viktor close, hand resting comfortingly on Viktor’s lower back. As they get deeper into the maze, they arrive at the park near the community center. No one’s here, and it’s littered with Spirit’s Eve decorations. “Can I ask you something?” Yuuri says, suddenly serious. 

Viktor frowns and tightens his hold on Yuuri’s hand. “Of course.” 

“When you said you wanted this—me—forever...did you mean it?” Yuuri isn’t looking at him, eyes focused somewhere over Viktor’s shoulder. 

“Yes,” Viktor replies. “I meant it, Yuuri.” 

“My mom said you would be a good son-in-law. I just...I need to know you want this as much as I do.” Yuuri laughs wetly. “No one has ever made me feel the way you do. You...I don’t think I’ll ever feel like this again, not with anyone else. It would break my heart to lose you.” 

Viktor steps forward, gathering Yuuri into his arms, far apart enough to still look him in the eye. “I meant every  _ word,  _ Yuuri. I want this. I want this so much it hurts, sometimes, when you aren’t there. I go to sleep and I wish you were beside me. When I’m reading, I wish you were sitting in your chair, just existing in the same place as me.” He takes a breath, pushes Yuuri’s glasses up so they’re resting comfortably on his nose. “I’m in love with you.” 

Yuuri gasps, eyes wide. “You are?” 

Viktor nods. “I’m in love with you, Yuuri.” 

“I’m in love with you,” Yuuri sighs, blinking back tears. He cups Viktor’s face in his gloved hands, wool rubbing gently over Viktor’s cheek. Viktor steps forward and kisses him, holding Yuuri’s waist. Yuuri fits so well under his hands, thumb rubbing over Yuuri’s hip bone. He’s so beautiful, mouth opening under Viktor’s, breathing him in. Yuuri tastes of apple cider, gasping for breath but not wanting to pull away. 

“Come home with me,” Viktor whispers into Yuuri’s mouth. 

Yuuri’s hands grip Viktor’s coat. “Yes,” he breathes.

———————

They stumble through Viktor’s threshold, hands grasping at one another, clothes falling to the wayside. The fire burns hot, and the air is warm when it hits Viktor’s bare skin. Yuuri whines under his mouth, pressing closer, hands running up Viktor’s chest. They fall back into the armchair, Yuuri climbing into Viktor’s lap to lick into his mouth. 

“I want you,” Yuuri says. His eyes are blown wide, black pupils ringed brown, hands clutching at Viktor’s shoulders. 

“You have me,” Viktor replies immediately, recapturing Yuuri’s mouth. “Bedroom,  _ bedroom, _ ” he moans when Yuuri bites at his lips. They stagger up, stumbling over each other into Viktor’s bedroom. The sheets are unmade, but Yuuri pushes him onto the mattress all the same. 

“Love you,” Yuuri kisses into his skin. 

“Love you,” Viktor bites between Yuuri’s legs. 

Yuuri opens him up, pressing him into the mattress, soft sheets whispering against Viktor’s hot skin. Yuuri’s fingers twist, take him apart, and Viktor arches up into Yuuri’s waiting mouth. When Yuuri slides into him, Viktor gasps and wraps his legs around Yuuri’s waist, pulling him closer,  _ not close enough.  _ Yuuri falls over him, laying his full weight onto Viktor, mouths moving desperately. 

“ _ I love you,”  _ Viktor moans when he comes, clutching at Yuuri’s back, digging his nails and heels in, biting it into Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri moans into Viktor’s hair, spilling and shaking apart, shuddering to a stop. 

When he pulls out, Yuuri collapses again over top Viktor, gathering him into his arms. Viktor snuggles into Yuuri’s chest, breathes in the heady smell of sex and Yuuri’s body wash. “Sticky,” Yuuri murmurs into Viktor’s neck. “Where are your washcloths?” 

“Mmmph,” Viktor grumbles and waves his hand in the general direction of the linen closet. Yuuri drags himself away and gets a wet cloth, running it over Viktor’s stomach and between his legs. It feels so good to be taken care of. He stretches luxuriously, body taut. Yuuri climbs back into bed and covers Viktor like a blanket. 

“You were amazing,” Yuuri says, kissing Viktor’s cheek. 

Viktor turns his head and captures Yuuri’s mouth, sucking Yuuri’s bottom lip into his mouth. “So were you,” he whispers. He runs lazy fingers through Yuuri’s dark hair, mussed from Viktor’s tugging. “I love you.” He hears Yuuri’s soft reply and drifts to sleep, soft and warm, safe in Yuuri’s arms. 

———————

There’s more pounding on his door. This time, Yuuri groans from beside him, rubbing a hand over his face. “What the fuck?” Yuuri grumbles. “Who the hell is knocking on your door?” 

“Probably another wizard,” Viktor moans into his pillow. Finally, he drags himself up, crawling his way into sweatpants and Yuuri’s sweater from last night. He shuffles to the door and throws it open, glaring out into the sun. 

“Viktor!” Yuuko cries, “I found a puppy outside your door!” She lifts a tiny puppy, curly brown fur sticking in all directions, up and into Viktor’s face. Any annoyance drains from Viktor as he stares at the puppy, soulful brown eyes blinking up at him. 

“Oh, poor baby,” Viktor coos, scooping up the puppy from Yuuko. “She’s probably starving. Come in, Yuuko.” 

“Viktor?” Yuuri’s voice calls from the bedroom. Viktor’s ears burn when Yuuko lets out a surprised, delighted noise. “Who’s here?” Yuuri emerges from the bedroom, nearly naked, before he yelps and slams the door again. Yuuko shrieks with laughter. 

“I’m so happy for you!” She cackles, face red with laughter.

“Thanks, Yuuko,” Viktor grins. He cuddles the puppy to his chest. “I’m assuming you won’t be taking the puppy, right?” 

“No can do. The triplets are already enough of a handful as it is.” She shrugs apologetically, “but I figured you could use a companion, anyway! Although,” she says, suddenly sly, “It appears you’ve already found him.” 

“Yuuko!” Yuuri screams from the bedroom. 

“Well, I’ll be off!” Yuuko races out of the house, door slamming behind her as Yuuri emerges, eyes narrowed. 

“I cannot believe she’s a mother,” Yuuri grumbles. His face softens, though, when he sees the puppy. “Who is this?” he scratches the puppy’s ears, dirty fur tangled under his hand. 

“My new dog, I suppose,” Viktor says. He lifts the puppy and looks at her. “Your name will be Makkachin.” 

Makkachin yips. 

Viktor and Yuuri give her a bath in the sink, being careful about her face and scrubbing gently at her dirt-caked fur. Makkachin wiggles, splashing soapy water everywhere, drenching Viktor and Yuuri both. It’s fun, though, and Viktor finds himself flicking water at Yuuri on his own, Makkachin panting happily between them. They wrap her in a warm towel, left by the fire, and rub her dry. 

She falls asleep in Yuuri’s lap after a bought of zoomies. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor says. He’s playing with Yuuri’s fingers, examining the nail beds and calluses on his. 

“Hm?” Yuuri asks, eyes half-lidded and sleepy. 

“Would you want to move in with me?” Yuuri blinks, suddenly awake. 

“Really?” 

“I mean...you make this place feel like a home. I want you here. Only if you want, though.” He takes a breath before he continues to ramble. 

Yuuri strokes a hand down Makkachin’s back, leans his head to the side and smiles at Viktor. “Okay,” he says. “I’d love that.” 

———————

The community center reopens the day after Yuuri moves in with Viktor. Viktor puts the finishing touches on, adding a few potted plants to the children’s play area. He steps back, hands on his hips and smiles up into the rafters. A soft chirp sounds from above. 

“The jumino are happy,” comes a voice from behind him. 

Viktor turns to face Minako. She’s in the entrance, long winter cloak wrapped around her. “The what?” Viktor asks. 

“The junimo. The sprites who live in this building.” 

“I didn’t know what they were,” Viktor admits. He had tried examining the slate once again, before it mysteriously disappeared, but couldn’t make heads or tails of the language engraved in it. “I just knew I had to help.” 

“You did the right thing,” Minako nods at him. “You have done much for this town, more than you know.” She sighs, twisting a ring on her middle finger. “Hasetsu was in such danger. Joja corporation threatened the Katsukis business, no one came here anymore. The tourism industry was going under.” She turns her intense gaze on him. “You’ve changed this place; you and Yuuri.” 

Viktor doesn’t respond, but he adjusts one of the potted plants. “Yuuri has moved in with you,” Minako notes. 

“Yes,” Viktor says, heart full. Yuuri and Viktor had celebrated into the early morning hours, boxes stacked in the living room where Makkachin slept. 

“I think you will be okay, Viktor.” Minako smiles at him. “You have found your life and love. Isn’t that what your grandfather told you to do?” Viktor nods. 

“Then you do not need to worry, anymore.” She runs a hand over a beam, polished and new. “Invite me to the wedding, okay?” 

Smiling down at the gold ring on his finger, Viktor nods. 

———————

They marry in the summer. Makkachin has grown substantially, curly fur growing long and sleek. Tonight is the Dance of the Moonlight Jellies, something Viktor has been waiting for since he arrived that autumn. No one had blinked at how quickly Viktor and Yuuri married, and instead had filled every seat in the town square. Lack of seating forced some to stand. 

Autumn had brought Viktor to a strange town and given him a crumbling farmhouse. 

Then, it gave him a family, a husband, a dog. It gave him poetry, tucked between stacks in the museum’s library trading quiet words between himself and Yuuri.

Yuuri, who kisses Viktor at the altar after they weep through their vows. Yuuri, who drags him down to the beach that night, Makkachin on their heels, as they wait. The moon is a round, silver thing in the sky, reflecting along the water. It’s hushed, the whole town gathered on the docks. Mari passes out apple cider, and Viktor and Yuuri sit, dip their toes into the water. Everything is hushed, the town waiting with bated breath. 

Then, “ _ Look! _ ” cries one of the triplets, pointing into the distance. There, in the water, a bright shape floats towards them. Behind it, comes more and more, until the water is lit from beneath with jellyfish. 

Viktor gasps, leaning forward so far Yuuri has to pull him back to avoid him falling face-first into the sea. “ _ Amazing,” _ Viktor breathes, dipping his fingers into the water as the jellies float by. He grips Yuuri’s hand, holding on, eyes wide. His husband holds him close, smiling into the water. Viktor looks down, eyes meeting Yuuri’s in the reflection of the sea. 

  
Then, inexplicably, they  _ dance.  _

**Author's Note:**

> well??? did you like it???? in my brain the whole time was the dance of the moonlight jellies, but a problem with that is my favorite season in stardew (and irl) is fall. so, i was like oh. summer wedding? anyway. let me know what you think! yuuri makes viktor's heart sing in the way comments make my heart sing. if you wanna cry about viktuuri i'm on twitter @/pplikeppl!!! 
> 
> all my love! see you next level! or next fic!
> 
> EDIT: i realized i had an inconsistency in this fic and the winter star one i posted where i said otabek was the blacksmith in this one and the adventurer's guild leader in the other, so i've changed it here! from here on georgi is the blacksmith!


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